Bug Juice

I need me some drugs. last night I popped a bunch of vicadin ostensibly for my back ache but really it was cause I was drunk. I get these cravings every once in a while, it's like the craving I get for lobster or other shell fish. the problem with speed is that it's never as good as you hope it's gonna be. the problem with vicadin is that it never lasts quite long enough. my problem with pot is that I only wanna smoke it alone while drinking coffee and writing, so I can record my freak out. the problem with this is I don't have any pot and lately I've only been writing in here. Is a blog a good place to record stoned freak outs? regardless I don't have any pot. Bug juice is the best, there is nothing wrong with bug juice until you get hooked and then the only problem is there is never enough.

I need some religion
I need to get into a kinky fight
I may not need either of those things and I'm just denying my need for lobster

a friend of mine once told me she was a teleology generator and she wasn't even fucked up at the time, well maybe a little. my memory is a little foggy, she may have spent the prior evening doing drugs at a lesbian sex vampire party or at a crack house but I know there was some reason why she needed to come over for coffee and then stay for ginger tea and seafood pasta. so were drinking coffee and and talking about Kant and R.D Lang and she's being really emphatic because she's always really emphatic, especially when it comes to obscure psychology and especially when it comes to her obscure psychology. it's in this context where she says "I think I'm a teleology generator." Ostensibly I love this statement because it's true and it means so many things but really it's because it makes Kant look like he's really into nutty druggies.

I later did a video with her inspired by ryan trecartins facepaint

I miss art and I need a bed buddy.

control and I became lovers the summer that kelly friedman was crashing in my bed. That was my best summer in albany, I had just figured out the difference between art and teenage vomit and I was spending a lot of time naked and stoned. I'm very fond of this memory, cleansed me of my previous history and allowed the foundation to be laid for the mutations that were on their way.

time to once again reassess history, there's shit that need rewriting, other shit that needs purging with a thorough enema.

what stays:
I am still the princess of sweden and no one can take that away from me, not even face book
art
Fucking

the first item on the list is delusional, the other two are just vague but that's certainly where I'm at. I need to figure out how to reconcile the me that I was with Erin, and the me that I was before and am going to be after. this make me sad just thinking about and not only a little because I've been left on very uncertain ground in terms of my identity. How do I reconcile three years of sexual ambiguity and amorphous gender presentation with the fact that I just spent two years in a totally hetero-normative relationship... I can't write about this any more right now, I'll just make myself sick over it.

DON'T FUCK WITH ME DURGA!

so I tried starting this once before but my ex objected to some of the content. we've since broken up even more and I'm feeling I once again have the freedom of expression

I'm sitting on my bed, to my right are four old cameras from the 70s to my left an old futon propped against my radiator that I've been using as a couch, a speaker acting like a nightstand, the decaying corpse of a cat murdered chair which has found new life as a shelf and occasional backrest. behind me two six foot high shelves of old electronics, toys, pieces of wood and hindu statuary all collecting dust. the dust was here before I left and it's still here now that I'm back with more books and cloth and art supplies. All of which will collect more dust. I'm trying to rationalize this, make it seem pretty or interesting but I can't put a value to it, not even a negative value. it's just stuff, there to be ignored until needed. I feel bad saying that while Shiva and Durga are staring at me. Maybe this is my punishment for letting them get dusty in the first place. To be cast out of Montreal and return to dust and Albany.

My therapist thinks it's my mother. My lonely not very old mother who's best friend is an 18 year old black girl and who's boyfriend is a 60something black man who has heart problems and is married to another woman. But enough about my mother, I feel like there's more hope if my situation can be attributed to the insane woman and god of transformation growing dusty on my shelf.

so how to reinvent my little world without pissing off the many armed crazy woman with who thinks I might be a demon.